


I Will Rescue You

by nora_grace



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - The 100 (TV) Fusion, Angst, Blood and Violence, Doctor Clarke Griffin, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, FBI Agent Bellamy Blake, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bellamy Blake, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24273259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nora_grace/pseuds/nora_grace
Summary: A pop Clarke thinks is the loudest thing she’s ever heard and for a split second she’s convinced that the sound was intense enough that it hit her. Then as fast as the sound came, it left with a deafening silence that leaves her ears ringing in its wake. Her entire body freezes in fear of the loud bang, hands going to envelop her head at instinct.Then she hears it again.And again.Gunshots, Clarke’s mind screams at her as she scrambles to place her back against the door as if that would prevent the shots. Gunshots that are undoubtedly coming from the other side of this fucking door. Her chest is moving rapidly, lungs trying to grab onto some air. Her ears feel like there's cotton in them, swallowing all the sound. She vaguely can hear desperate pleas of help, pleas to stop, coming from the other side of the battered door and that seems to be what snaps her back into focus._________________or Clarke happens to find herself in the middle of a drug deal gone bad, many people die leaving her the only witness. Bellamy is the agent in charge of keeping her safe til the trail. Feelings happen.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	I Will Rescue You

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of the premier of the 7th season, here's a new fic!! I haven't pre-written any other chapters so lmk if I should just leave this, lmao. I really like this plot, so i may continue even if no one reads. Also, I'll be updating the tags as this progresses. No need for spoilers;) 
> 
> Fic title: I Will Rescue You (Rescue) - Lauren Daigle  
> This song basically summarizes Bellarke's relationship in my opinion 
> 
> Chapter title: Mess is Mine - Vance Joy
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: please, please, please read the tags before you continue. I really do not wanna upset anyone and only wrote this for the intention of entertainment. I will try and let you guys know if any major tw are in a chapter at the notes at the end.
> 
> And with that, enjoy.

_Well, hold on, darling_

_This body is yours_

_This body is yours and mine_

_Well, hold on my, darling_

_This mess was yours_

_Now your mess is mine_

______________

The frigid air of November stings Clarke’s lungs as she walks back to her apartment from where she just finished a 36-hour shift at the hospital. The cool air seems to instantly relieve some of her exhaustion, but doesn’t take away from the familiar ache in her sore feet. _Residency sucks_. She naturally knows the long shifts are considered a “rite of passage” but it would be nice to be able to actually sleep for more than thirty uncomfortable minutes and in her bed instead of on a ditched gurney that lines the sterile halls. 

The pleasant glow of the usually bustling city of Arkadia lights her way home, quite due to the late hour. Clarke typically would take an Uber home, but she had no intention of desperately waiting 30 minutes for one to arrive when it takes less time to just walk. She is about half-way there when she feels her phone vibrate sympathetically where it’s in her coat pocket.

She slips it out and finds a notification from her boyfriend lighting up the screen:

**2:05 p.m. Finn Collins: On your way home?**

**2:05 p.m. Clarke Griffin: Shouldn’t you be asleep?**

**2:06 p.m. Finn Collins: Nah, just got back from hanging with the bros. Pick me up some take out on your way back.**

Clarke rolls her eyes at his typical response, annoyed. When she and Finn had gotten together, it was only supposed to be for a few weeks to undoubtedly please her mother. Abby Griffin had recently married Marcus Kane — the Mayor of Arkadia — and naturally took every opportunity to remind Clarke that for political reasons it was important for her to be in a public relationship with one of their donors. Something about reelection soon and needing the local support.

Clarke absolutely hated the absurd idea, but this reelection meant everything to her mom and Kane. Abby hadn't been the same since the tragic death of Jake Griffin 5 years ago, none of them had. The spark that in the past was so bright and inspired Clarke had been stifled out and left a cold shell of a once lively woman. That was until Abby met Marcus. It instantly brought something back to life inside her, her cold exterior melting away. Clarke didn’t want to risk anything bad happening to her mother’s new-found happiness even if it inevitably meant her own taking a back seat. 

So Clarke agreed and before she knew it she was in a relationship with the one and only Finn Collins. She had to admit at first he was charming in a prince type of way. He undoubtedly has a cute smile and boy band hair that she would’ve genuinely loved when she was like 14. But she’s almost 26 now and is stuck in a political arrangement with a wanna be playboy that she thought was going to end 6 months ago. But apparently not. 

Her mother and Kane absolutely adored Finn which promptly led to the cultural pressure of them staying together and “growing” as a couple as her mom would put it. Even encouraged them to move in. Finn seemed to be absolutely smitten with her and Clarke just went along with it, hoping maybe genuine feelings would come later. But they didn’t and still aren’t. 

So even though Clarke is exhausted and cold and just wishes to be home, she texts Finn back demanding bitterly what he wants and heads in the unusual direction of the nearest Chinese restaurant.The closest one open is off in a little alcove on 2nd street. It’s comical for the reason that it looks exactly like a stereotypical Chinese place with the flashing red ‘OPEN’ sign unevenly hanging in the windowsill included. She pushes her way in through the heavy glass door causing a bell to go off to notify the employees of her arrival. The heated air of the restaurant tingles her freezing skin, a burning feeling almost. There are a few people from what Clarke can instantly hear and see in the back working and a random couple paired at a table by the lone window that overlooks the street to which lead Clarke to the restaurant.

Clarke instantly places her and Finn’s orders then politely asks where the restroom is while she waits for her food to be prepared. She heads in the specific direction from where the lady that took her order pointed to and ends up walking down a short hall passing the couple in front of the window to a not-so attractive bathroom.

She decides against actually using the filthy toilet, but goes straight to the sink instead and carefully looks into the dirty, cracked mirror that hangs above it. Her golden head of hair is an absolute mess, all greasy and falling out of her once french braided hair. Her sunken eyes are heavy, bags under them to really define her exhaustion. Clarke sighs heavily and goes to splash some water on her wry face as a last attempt to hopefully wake herself up more and clear her mind from the raw fog of wanted sleep.

While gently rubbing her face with the lukewarm water Clarke can hear the distant jingle of the welcome bell into the restaurant. She naturally thinks nothing of it and goes to grab a roll of paper towels that sits next to the faucet because _of course_ they don’t have an actual place for them she thinks to herself.

_That’s when she hears it._

A pop Clarke thinks is the loudest thing she’s ever heard and for a split second she’s convinced that the sound was intense enough that it hit her. Then as fast as the sound came, it left with a deafening silence that leaves her ears ringing in its wake. Her entire body freezes in fear of the loud bang, hands going to envelop her head at instinct. 

Then she hears it again. 

And again.

 _Gunshots_ , Clarke’s mind screams at her as she scrambles to place her back against the door as if that would prevent the shots. _Gunshots that are undoubtedly coming from the other side of this fucking door._ Her chest is moving rapidly, lungs trying to grab onto some air. Her ears feel like there's cotton in them, swallowing all the sound. She vaguely can hear desperate pleas of help, pleas to stop, coming from the other side of the battered door and that seems to be what snaps her back into focus.

After the third gun shot, no more seem to come so Clarke carefully holds her anxious ear up to the door to see if she can overhear anything, any sign that it’s safe to leave the bathroom.

 _“I said where is she?”_ A man with a deep, scratchy voices demands. 

_“I promise you I have no idea what you’re talking about!”_ The cocking sound of the gun inevitably brings another violent sob from the unfortunate lady she can make out as the one who took her order just minutes prior.

_“Wanna try again?”_

_“We paid our dues for this month! Gave you everything you asked for!”_ The lady cries again.

A terrifying laugh and the shrill cries from the innocent woman makes Clarke’s teeth grit together. She slowly backs away from where she was standing, reaching to grip her phone from her jacket pocket. She quickly dials 9-1-1, but makes sure to turn down the volume, so no one else could hear.

_“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”_

“There’s been a shooting on 2nd street. Please hurry.” Surprisingly Clarke’s voice is firmer than she thought even while whispering into her phone desperately. She abruptly ends the call after that, not wanting to risk being overheard. All she can do is eagerly hope that the police will be fast enough to get to her before the unknown gunmen knows she's there.

Clarke pushes her ear against the door again trying to see if she can hear more of the violent exchange, but then another gunshot rings in the frigid air. Just as deafening as the last. Her stomach drops once she belatedly realizes she can’t hear the helpless woman anymore. It takes everything in her to not bust open the door and rush to the woman’s aid, but Clarke can still hear the muffling of two people talking to each other.

She silently searches the bathroom for any type of effective weapon, her anxious heart pounding furiously. Clarke’s hands shake as she slowly opens the door to the cabinet under the sink, praying to whatever God there is that there is something worth using. A fierce wave of relief pours over her when she sees the shine of a sliver crowbar, tucked in under a few rolls of toilet paper.

Clarke grabs the crowbar and carefully makes her way back to the doorway, flattening her ear to the door once again. This time though, she doesn’t hear sobs or talking. She instantly hears footsteps. Slow, loud, terrifying footsteps echoing in the hall. The same hall that leads to the bathroom where Clarke is pathetically hiding for her life.

 _Shit, shit, shit._

Clarke clutches the crowbar in her hands, holding onto it like it’s her lifeline. In a way it most likely is. It’s legitimately the sole thing that gives her a shot of actually making it out of this goddamn Chinese restaurant. She backs up from the door and stands against the wall that when you’d open the door it would normally hit, hoping that if someone does come in they won’t see her.

As the footsteps draw closer, Clarke is sure the armed man can hear her erratic heartbeat with how loudly it pounds in her chest. She squeezes her burning eyes shut, blood rushing through her ears. She wonders dumbly if now would be the time she’d see her life flash before her eyes. If the last thing she sees is a gun between her eyes, just like the rest of the defenseless victims. Her aflame heart breaks for the unfortunate people outside of the private bathroom that didn’t get the chance to hide. They didn’t get the chance to fight back, not like Clarke is getting.

With that last thought a new found emotion breaks through the fear and anxiety:

_Determination._

A fierce determination to make it out of here, to be able to live her life. To make more memories, to hug her mother again. Clarke is getting a chance that the other people in the restaurant didn’t get to have, and she’s going to make damn sure that she doesn’t waste it.

The footsteps seem to come to a halt once they reach the battered door to the bathroom. Clarke takes a shaky breath and grabs her crowbar in a death grip and is prepared to instantly attack whatever comes when the door flies open.

Except the door doesn’t fly open. Instead, she hears a voice different from the one who was threatening the woman come through the door.

_“Shumway, there is nothing in there. Let’s go.”_

_Shumway_ seems to listen to the other man and next thing Clarke knows, she can merely hear the jiggles on the front door. She reluctantly gives it a second before rushing out of the filthy bathroom and back to where the other people were in the dinghy shop. Her heart stops beating at the gruesome sight before her.

Blood is the first thing her mind registers. _A lot of fucking blood._ Clarke is a surgeon in her residency; blood doesn’t bother her but it’s the way the people are slumped in their own blood. The way the couple who were quietly sitting in front of the widow are clasping hands. Both with identical gun shots in their heads, motionlessly sitting exactly how they were when Clarke walked in. The way there is no more buzzing sounds of the workers in the back chatting. Only bloody footprints that direct their way into the back where she assumes the kitchen is.

A distraught moan causes Clarke to jerk her head over to see the woman from earlier who lays limp in a pool of her own blood. Clarke hastily gets by her side, dropping to her knees to assess the obvious bullet wound in her stomach. She is pretty certain she’s gone into mild shock due to the fact that Clarke is operating like a modern computer. She's numb as she rips her jacket off her arms and forcefully pushes it against the dying woman’s stomach. Clarke knows she’s naturally trying to reassure the woman that she’ll be okay, but doesn’t hear the words fall off her gentle lips. Nor does she hear the cops bust into the restaurant.

All she can focus on is saving this unfortunate woman. That’s all she can do. Clarke vaguely notices the other paramedics come to help. She just keeps pressing on the extensive wound. When an officer comes to her side to advise her to let them work, Clarke ignores him.

“I need a tube,” she tells the paramedic across from her.

“Ma’am, you’re in--,” Clarke interrupts harshly before she has the chance to instruct her to stop.

“I’m Dr. Clarke Griffin, a resident at Ark Memorial and this woman needs a thoracostomy.” Clarke talks as she continues applying pressure, not taking her eyes off her patient. “Now, you can hand me that goddamn tube or you can let this woman die.” She looks up to the paramedic, “Your choice.”

______________

Clarke doesn’t really remember the ride back in the hospital in the ambulance. It’s all blurry while she tried to stop the bleeding, but there was just so much fucking blood. She remembers the woman’s heart stopping and carried out compressions until they reached the hospital. Remembers busting through the ER’s doors and then climbing off the gurney the patient was on to switch off with someone else, so they could continue CPR.

As soon as her feet hit the floor of the hospital, it’s like every single emotion she had been feeling before she went into shock jerked her under again. The fear, the anxiety. But one feeling in particular hits her like a truck. _Exhaustion._

She faintly hears the call of her name, but it’s as though she's underwater and every sound is muffled. Clarke tries to grab onto something, anything. Her feet haul her backwards and then Eric Jackson grabs onto her forearms, concern written all over his face. She can see his wry mouth moving, but no sound comes out. Suddenly her eyes feel so damn heavy, and she just can’t keep them open anymore. 

Then there is just darkness.

______________

“Thank you Agent Blake for coming on such short notice,” her mom’s voice washes over her. Clarke can instantly feel a stinging pain in her arm, almost like a long-lasting pinch. She can hear the people talking in the distance and the faint sound of a phone ringing. Even though her eyes are closed, she can still see how bright the lights behind her eyelids are. The familiar smell of saturation of alcohol fills her nose, a sense of dread filling her chest.

Clarke knows she’s in a hospital.

She practically spent her whole life in a hospital one way or another. Her mother was the chief of surgery at Ark Memorial and has been since Clarke can remember. It was her mother’s dream for Clarke to carry on the career of being a doctor though it wasn’t always her first choice. No, she wanted to be an artist. Clarke had always been naturally talented at drawing. Her father was always her biggest fan, always encouraging her to draw more. He even got her lessons one year for her birthday. Her mom, on the other hand, was less enthusiastic about her passion. She consistently called her work “doodles” and declared her that it wouldn’t get her anywhere in life.

Clarke never genuinely cared what her mom thought until after her dad died. Abby didn’t give a shit about anything her daughter did when Jake died. So not only had she lost the sole person who’d absolutely supported her love for art and was actively giving feedback, but she lost her mom with him. But when she buried her father, she buried her love to paint along with him.

Clarke’s eyes slowly open when she hears a smooth, deep voice respond to her mother. “Of course, Mrs. Griffin. We won’t let anything happen to your daughter.”

When her eyes adjust to the bright lights of the hospital room the first thing she catches is a man talking to her mom outside her open door. He’s no more than a couple of years older than her. His dark curls fall in around his eyes and he’s accompanied with a navy jacket with the letters FBI in bold yellow letters.

 _He's fucking hot._ Clarke immediately scolds herself for her train of thought instead of not questioning why the hell an FBI agent is talking to her mother.

That’s when the tragic memories of the last night inevitably come crashing into her. _Going to the Chinese restaurant, the gunshots, the sobs, the blood._ Her stomach drops when she remembers bitterly seeing all those people dead. Desperately trying to save the woman from the front desk that was drowning in her own blood.

 _Make sure she’s alive_ , her head screams at her. So without another thought Clarke aggressively pushes the hospital issued blankets off her legs and is about to rip the IV that’s attached to her arm out when a cold hand pushing her shoulder back into the bed brings her eyes to meet her mother’s.

“Clarke,” Her mother whispers tenderly while gently pushing her back to the bed. “Sweetie, you need to rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

Clarke shakes her head again and is about to try again when a much warmer hand presses on her other shoulder. When her sky blue eyes meet his chocolate brown ones, her heart skips a beat. She has no idea why because she’s never seen this man a day in her life before, and she’s 100% sure she’d remember meeting him if she had. Being this close to him she can see freckles brush his bronze features, almost like constellations.

Clarke must’ve been distracted long enough by the new hot mysterious dude because once she shakes her head to clear her thoughts, she’s back tucked in the hospital bed.

“Mom, I don’t understand.” Clarke flicks her gaze back to whom she assumes is an agent and then back to her mom. “What’s going on?”

“Honey,” Abby sits on the bed at her side, picking up her hand and holding it in her own.“Do you remember what happened last night?” Clarke nods her head slowly.“Well, the cops think it was a drug deal gone wrong. Since you’re the only person who survived the incident, they wanna keep an eye on you for a while.”

Clarke’s brows furrowed in confusion, “But I wasn’t the only one. There was another woman there; she was shot but —,” The shake of Abby’s head and the grim expression etched into her sharp features told her the woman didn’t make it. Abby squeezes her hand.

Clarke’s gaze shifts from her mother to the agent who had taken a step back, probably to provide Clarke some space. Her mom follows her gaze and quickly apologizes.

“Clarke meet Agent Blake,” Abby nods in his direction.“He’ll be in charge of keeping you safe.”

______________

_Bring me to your house_

_Tell me, "Sorry for the mess," hey, I don't mind_

_You're talking in your sleep, out of time_

_Well, you still make sense to me, your mess is mine_

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Violence, gore (kinda?), blood
> 
> Feel free to lmk how you feel about the start of this and if you want more! Comments always help. If you have any questions, you should comment those too. I make sure to answer everyone. Be kind and respectful if you do choose to make your opinions known. 
> 
> Big thanks to @TIMETOLIVE for giving me the prompt idea!!<3
> 
> Since we are stuck in quarantine, here are some of my fav (BELLARKE) fics you should check out to pass by the time:  
> Lose You Too -eyessharpweaponshot  
> The Naked Truth - mad_magic  
> Now I'm Addicted - arysa13  
> Wrecked - asroarke  
> (They're all finished and fantastic!)
> 
> Until next time;)


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